Happy Saturday morning:

“99 percent of all statistics only tell 49 percent of the story” ~ Ron DeLegge II, Gents with No Cents

Thursday evening was our first condo HOA meeting. So, while there, I checked my mail – one large nondescript brown envelope, no name, just general delivery. It wasn’t till yesterday morning over my coffee that I took a peek. Several full color pages, a couple of sign up questions pages, and a pre-paid envelope. And what was the offer? What was going to make some business money with this bargain? I might as well announce what it was since you’ll never guess it anyway; it was an offer for my very own FREE Obamaphone – complete with minutes and texting. I guess I do live in an exciting Zip code; one which allows a company to toss their ads into mailboxes by the hundreds and still get a return.

Zip codes, five little numbers; how they’re arranged will either have you pay or have you receive. The power of numbers.

A break in the action – Marcia and I had, had it. Days of plodding along added to way too much winter and being holed up.

Then, from out of the blue Marcia caught an emerging band performing the end-of-segment piece on CBS News. She just knew that since I totally enjoy southern R&B Soul that I needed to hear this. Me (in a high squeaky voice); “Loved it”!

As if by magic we discovered that the group – now we had a name; St. Paul and the Broken Bones – would be playing in Indianapolis Wednesday evening. About 60 seconds later we had a pair of tickets (good thing too since the show was sold out shortly thereafter).

Wednesday started as normal, folded into a few hours of sitting the on-spring-break Vai, and finally had us set out for Indianowhere.

Marcia had done her homework and discovered that a block or so from the venue, Radio Radio, was a small but well rated little Peruvian restaurant—Mama Irma. And that is exactly where we ended up. Without anyone prodding we’re both raving over our food; Marcia’s “Chaufa de Mariscos” and my “Aji de Gallina” were a step beyond wonderful. Marcia’s meal was capped by a dish of “Leche Asada” (AKA crème Brulee). Wow!

Fortified, we were so ready for a great concert.

So we felt like we were hit by a truck – at least that’s what it felt like the next morning after we arriving back at the house at 1:30 am – and we didn’t care one iota.

What a concert!

The opening act – Good Greaff – headlined twin sisters one of whom played and was classically trained on the Cello (the other did the vocals, Mandolin, and Guitar). Additionally, one of the sisters has a massive number of credits as a foley artist on a number of major movies. Plus, I’ve never heard a Cello used in a rock band. Anyway, the bottom line being that their act was good enough to get me off my barstool.

Then came the main act – St. Paul and the Broken Bones. When you come to listen to southern R&B band and the frontman jumps on stage, is white, and looks like a nerdy CPA, the immediate reaction was a collective, “huh?” Then you hear the voice, a raspy rumbling snarl which pulls you in. A voice that when surrounded by some brass instruments and electric organ caused the crowd to go wild!

For the rest of the evening Marcia and I were tossed about between a church service and utter mayhem. And we loved it!

Pause – time out for Dinah’s very first soccer game. Spring soccer has started.

Animal Planet – Yup, spring is progressing, even though the weekend temperatures have dropped. The Daffodils are out and the Tulip trees are breaking into bloom.

Yesterday getting into the car bothered our neighborhood hawk and it started flying circles screeching as loud as it could. They are loud.

Fini – This weekend it’s wishing the best of Birthdays to Dia and to Jeanne P., both are way too young to celebrate another one of those days.

Make it a great week everyone, stay safe.

Cheers.
Dirk

From the Archives
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Morning all:

Saturday a week ago I flew out of town. At the time the bulb flowers were in bloom. Yesterday upon my return all the flowering trees were out to greet me, all blooming in their full glory. Lawn mowers were in use everywhere; even our small Starburst Magnolia and two Bradford Pear tree start-ups were blooming. What a pretty time of year.

It probably is not an age thing but I need to lay the blame somewhere. Yesterday morning my flight dropped me off at customs and immigration in Atlanta at 5:15 AM. The overnight flight was completely packed and sleep opportunities were fitful to say the least. It was nine-thirty when Marcia picked me up at the airport. Enjoying the spring weather and the new-found pleasure of experiencing low humidity I wandered over to talk with the neighbors. That major event caused me to crash in my chair for a couple of hours. Once up, Marcia and I hauled the deck furniture out of storage and set it up. Two more hours of crashing in my chair! Now, with a serious energy boost under my belt I got the leaf blower out to clean the drive and garage. The energy drain was immediate and I skipped the chair crashing bit and crawled into bed. At seven-thirty Marcia woke me to ask if I could light the grill to grill dinner. Ten-thirty I was gone for the night.

My final night’s stay in Brazil was in the city of Campinas. As you can see by the photo the place is not small, yet it is really only one of several sub-cities to the amazingly large São Paulo area. Anyway, I digress; the outdoor hotel thermometer read 37, which if correct, I converted into a very humid 98 degrees. I did not spot the temperature bit until after I had walked the seven blocks to the local Pão de Açúcar supermarket. Going was not too bad. On the other hand walking back to the hotel carrying ten pounds of Brazilian coffee in several plastic grocery bags was not very smart. I need to start thinking taxi. Oh yes, I did bring along an empty bag specifically to drag it all home.

Entry into the USA requires most visitors to have a photo and fingerprint scan done as part of our security program. In Brazil, a judge got wrapped into this event and got angry about our all inclusive carte-blanc policy. Upon his return to Brazil he made a ruling and now every American, and only Americans, after they get processed normally then file into a single line; you guessed it, to have their picture taken and their finger scanned. Does tit-for-tat mean anything? One hour later I stepped out into the hubbub of cars and busses in front of the terminal. Oh well, It least I did not do what a American Airlines pilot did last year when, with major frustration after over two-hours of delays, he signaled his unhappiness with his middle finger. Without ever leaving the airport, and $10,000 worth of fines lighter, he was on a flight back to America. Thumbs up!

Have a great week.
Cheers,
Dirk

4/10/2005 08:17:00 AM